


Polaroids

by itislacey



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Art, Fluff, Happy, M/M, i think this is a sweet story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7344898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itislacey/pseuds/itislacey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil says he likes to take pictures of art. Dan knows this, but he doesn’t know the full extent of it. Not until he goes over to Phil’s flat for the first time and sees that his walls are covered in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polaroids

**Author's Note:**

> I actually really like this fic. I've been wanting to write one centered around photos and memories for quite a while now, and when I was doing some DIY stuff with polaroids, this popped into my head. I hope you like it as much as I do!

Phil had always been a huge nerd when it came to art. To him, art came in many forms. Most people associated the word with paintings and sculptures, but with Phil, art was anything he found beautiful. He often told his boyfriend he was a work of art, though his boyfriend liked to beg to differ.

“What are you taking a picture of now?” Dan asked from beside him. Dan lay on the warm grass, staring up at the clouds in the sky. That was always something Dan liked to do: study the sky and the Earth. 

Phil chuckled. “The pond. There’s no one around and the ducks are sitting at the water’s edge.” It was a lie, and Dan didn’t know it. Phil was preparing to take a picture of Dan as he stared at the drifting clouds. Dan typically got so invested into watching them, he blocked out everything that was happening around him. Including Phil. 

As Dan remained on the ground, Phil got out his camera he had gotten this past Christmas from his mum, and removed the lense cap. He was in no rush to get it turned on and ready, for he knew Dan would stay on the ground for hours, still looking like the piece of art Phil knew he was.

Before pulling the camera up to his face to take some snapshots, Phil studied Dan. He studied the way the corner of his mouth lifted up to form the dimple on his right cheek. He looked at his dirt colored hair, which was styled into its common fringe to the left. It was a bit rumpled from lying on it, but to Phil, that only made it more natural. Though, Phil prefered Dan’s curls any day of the week. Too bad Dan couldn’t see the beauty in his natural self and wear them a little more. 

But what Phil liked looking at the most was Dan’s eyes. They matched his hair perfectly, except instead of looking like dry dirt, they looked like mud, just after it rained for a few days and the ground was still squishy. 

“Whatcha looking at?” Dan asked, catching Phil’s eyes.

“You,” Phil responded simply. 

Dan laughed quietly. “You’re always looking at me.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re supposed to look at art.”

“In galleries,” Dan snorted. 

Phil shrugged, despite Dan not seeing it. He fiddled with his camera, getting it to the settings he wanted before not so secretly taking pictures of Dan as he watched the clouds. He took at least fifty pictures, and would so gladly take more, but he didn’t want to risk Dan catching him. He liked taking pictures of those unplanned moments. Where everyone is happy and enjoying themselves. It’s what made pictures so memorable and true. It’s what made them art. 

The sun was setting now, and Phil was lying next to Dan, staring at the pink sky. “Ready to get going?” he asked. 

Dan sighed. “I guess. Though I could stay all night and look at the stars. I much more prefer those than the clouds.”

“Yes. I know. It’s matches your aesthetic,” Phil said, repeating what Dan had told him last week about the darkness and the stars matching everything he was. Quiet. Peaceful. Guiding. 

Dan laughed. “I would expect the artist to understand about aesthetics,” he teased. 

“Believe me, I do,” Phil assured. “Considering I have it with me at all times.”

Dan bit his lower lip, rolling his eyes. “I’ve known you for how long? A year? And you still haven’t failed to be smooth in the flirting department.”

“Good. It’s how I got you in the first place. I’d hate to lose my touch.” Phil flashed a smile at Dan, gathering up his camera bag before setting off to his flat.

“Hey, Phil,” Dan said casually. 

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t you ever let me over to your flat? I mean, you come over to mine all the time. But you never seem to want me at yours.” 

Phil’s face flushed of color. “It’s full of junk and other equipment. It’s a disaster, really. I want to have it cleaned up before I have company over.”

Dan grimaced, not quite believing his story. They’ve been dating for a little over eight months now, and Dan still hadn’t been over to Phil’s flat. He was beginning to think Phil was hiding something from him, as much as he didn’t want to. “Oh,” Dan breathed. 

Phil felt guilty for telling a lie, but he didn’t know what to tell Dan. The truth was always good, but maybe not in Phil’s case. He was afraid if he told Dan what he was keeping there, that it might scare him off. And Phil didn’t want to do that. Not by any means. He loved Dan too much to let him go over something so . . . 

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Dan asked as they got to the corner where they always parted ways. 

“Yeah,” Phil said softly. “Meet me for lunch at our usual spot?”

“Will do.”

Phil forced a smile as Dan leaned down and pecked him on the lips. He looked at Dan as he pulled away and headed down the opposite end of the street, away from where Phil lived. 

Phil promised to have Dan over soon. He just had to be ready for it.

***

Eight months. Dan was still bothered by the fact that he had never been over to Phil’s, even though it’s been hours since the conversation happened. In the course of their relationship, Dan had thought about going over there many times unannounced, or at least trying to sneak in somehow. But he knew Phil would catch him. Phil was always watching him, even when Dan didn’t know it. 

When Dan went to sleep that night, he tried his best to shove all thoughts aside as to why Phil doesn’t want him over a his flat. Even if all the reasons he could conjure up hurt his feelings.

***

The next day, Dan waited. He went to the willow tree at the pond where him and Phil always met for lunch on Wednesday’s, except when Phil didn’t show after about twenty minutes, Dan got worried. Phil never missed their lunch dates. Especially on Wednesday’s under the willow tree. It was their favorite day of the week together. Something must be wrong if he didn’t show up. 

Dan sent him a quick text, waiting for a reply to come through. But one never did. It was at the forty-five minute mark of waiting, that Dan decided to head over to Phil’s flat to see what he was doing. Now, Dan had never been invited over before, but he knew where Phil lived, only because he had followed him one night after they were supposed to be parting ways. Dan was in one of those moods where he was just about to pounce at the opportunity of seeing Phil’s flat, but he never did. He always chickened out. 

Dan approached the tall building, looking up at it’s brick exterior and wondering which window belonged to Phil’s level. Dan walked inside the lobby, looking at the names of each mailbox along the wall. At the third row from the top, he spotted the faded name “Lester” which belonged to the third floor, room eight. 

How easy, Dan thought. 

Being the lazy bum that he is, Dan took the lift up to the third floor, deciding that using the stairs would be torture. His stomach was already in knots as he ventured up the building. Why hadn’t Phil met him? Why hadn’t he replied to any texts? Was this him trying to say he was done? No. It couldn’t be. Phil would never end their relationship so childishly, let alone at all. Phil loved him. That much Dan was certain. 

But if he loves you so much, why doesn’t he let you in his home? a voice in the back of Dan’s mind teased. He pushed the thought away, finally making it to the eighth door on the third floor. He stood there for a while, debating on what to do. 

Knocking seems like a good option.

Dan grumbled, balling his left hand into a fist and pounding on the door. God, he really hoped this was Phil’s door. He banged on it a few more times until he finally heard the click of locks unlocking, and the door opening to reveal and sleepy Phil in glasses.

“Phil?” Dan asked. 

Phil went to rub his eyes, pushing up his glasses as he did so. He sniffled heavily, saying, “Dan? Oh, Dan! What time is it?”

“Nearly one o’clock,” he replied. “Phil, are you okay?” Though, looking at Phil up and down, he didn’t seem it. He was still in his pajamas and he had his glasses on, which meant he hadn’t even bothered getting ready for the day. “Were you . . . sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Phil said, his cheeks heating up with color. “I don’t feel very well.”

“You seemed fine yesterday.” And he truly did. They spent a good day together. He didn’t even seem like he was close to getting sick.

Phil coughed once. “Yeah, I know. I don’t know what happened.” Perhaps karma for lying to Dan, he thought. 

“I got worried,” Dan said bluntly. “You didn’t show up and I didn’t know what to think. Like, I thought you might be mad at me!”

Phil choked on a laugh. “Mad at you? For what?”

“Bugging you about seeing your flat. I thought I crossed a line and you--”

“Stop right there,” Phil said, holding up a hand. “Dan, do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? Why would I be mad at you over that? Let alone at all! I would never get mad at you. I couldn’t.”

Dan looked into the blue of Phil’s eyes, seeing only the truth. Phil never got mad. At least, Dan had never seen him get upset before. Dan didn’t think he actually could, much like Phil said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Phil said, laughing. His tongue poked out between his teeth, much to Dan’s amusement. “Let me make it up to you.”

“What?” Dan said, perplexed. “I’m the one that should make it up to you.”

Phil pursed his lips. “No, no. I have stuff to make up for, too. Like not letting you over here in all the months we’ve known each other. So, please, come in.” Phil opened the door wider, stepping aside to make room for Dan to enter. 

“A--are you sure?” Dan stuttered. Dan never stuttered. He supposed his nerves were getting the best of him, since he was finally about to see the mystery that was Phil’s flat. 

“Of course!” Phil said, laughing. “Come on before I shut the door on you.”

Dan wasted no time stepping inside the threshold, being immediately surrounded by the scent of strawberries and warmth. Phil’s flat felt so . . . at home. It felt nice. 

“Now,” Phil began, closing the door behind them. “Before you venture into the rest of my home, there is one thing you should be wary of.”

Dan’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s that?” he said, practically choking on the words. 

The smile on Phil’s face never faltered as he said, “The lounge is a bit . . .Well, shoot. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s covered in art, I guess you could say.”

Dan slumped his shoulders. “That’s it?”

Phil frowned. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?” 

Dan laughed. “I don’t know. I was expecting something more revealing. Something like ‘I’m actually a serial killer and the walls are covered in photos of my victims’.”

Phil blushed, pressing his lips together in a tight line to keep from smiling. He shook his head as he brushed by Dan, going towards the lounge. 

Dan followed behind, taking in every object he encountered as he made his way there. When he stepped through the doorway of the lounge, however, he saw something he wasn’t quite expecting. His breath got caught in his throat, and his heart hammered so loudly, he thought for sure it was going to explode. 

The walls were covered in polaroids. And he did mean covered. They were held up by clothing pins sticking to the walls. Dan got closer to them, looking at each photo carefully. Each one was practically the same, yet it wasn’t. They were all of him, but in different time periods. 

The one Dan was looking at now, was one he remembered clearly. Well, he didn’t remember Phil taking the picture, but he remembered the night. Dan had admitted to Phil he liked stargazing. They were both stood on the balcony, Dan staring up at the night sky. It was mid-summer and it was warm. Yet he still wore black. Dan remembered Phil wearing some galaxy shirt of his, and he briefly wondered how he remembered such a detail.

“Phil,” Dan breathed.

“What? I told you my walls were covered in art.”

Dan laughed, despite himself. Art. Phil was always telling Dan he was a work of art. From the craters on his cheeks when he smiled, to his curly locks of brown hair that tangled atop his head after he had a shower. “I’m not art,” Dan said automatically. It’s what he always told Phil when he said that.

“Yes, you are,” Phil said, now standing beside him and gazing at the polaroids. “Do you know what the proper definition of art is?” 

“No,” Dan replied, now looking at a different picture from a different time.

“It’s a noun. The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.”

Dan giggled. “Is that a Google definition?”

“It’s the proper definition,” Phil said. 

“Okay. But, Phil, I’m none of those things. These aren’t paintings or sculptures. These are pictures.” 

Phil glanced at him. “It doesn’t have to be either of those things to be art. You’re forgetting the last half of that. ‘Producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.’ Here I am, producing images of something that is already naturally beautiful. You make me happy, Dan. That’s an emotion. You make me feel. You make me want to scream at how gorgeous you are. I’m the luckiest man alive. I get to see you everyday in person, and come home and see you still. There isn’t one moment of my life I want to spend without looking at you. You are everything to me.”

Tears pricked Dan’s eyes, and he wiped them with his sweater paws. So this was why Phil never allowed Dan over. He didn’t want him to see the pictures on the wall. “Phil,” he choked. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Do what?” Phil laughed, grabbing him by the shoulders, forcing Dan to face him.

“Make me cry.” He sniffled once, swatting playfully at Phil. “Damn you.”

Phil smiled brightly at him. “I hope they’re tears of joy.”

“They are. But that doesn’t mean I want them to stream down my face.”

“They add texture to your squishy complexion. And tears of joy are the only kind of tears you should ever cry. Dan, you are beautiful to me. Even with tears streaming down your face, you are still the prettiest thing I’ve laid my eyes on today. Do you know what you are?”

“Art,” Dan said mockingly, choking on a laugh. 

Phil laughed with him, wiping the tears that streamed down Dan’s cheeks. “Yes. You are art. But more importantly, you’re mine. You are a masterpiece. And I want you in my gallery forever, just so I can look at you anytime I please.”

Dan backed away from Phil, now standing in the center of the room. He turned around slowly looking at each wall and gazing over each picture. “I remember most of these,” he murmured. “Remember the day, I mean. Not you taking them. It’s weird how I can remember that though.” 

Phil stayed where he was, looking at one of the polaroids on the opposite wall. “Pictures speak a thousand words, and show us a thousand things. They capture time. They are your thoughts and feelings, frozen in a single image. Just by looking at it, it makes you think and feel how you did at that moment in time. Each time I look at these photos, I feel happy. I remember how happy or thoughtful you were, and when I know you’re happy, then I’m happy too.” Phil unclipped a picture from the wall, holding it delicately in his hands. “This one is my favorite.”

Dan walked over to him, peering over his shoulder at the polaroid he held between his fingers. It was a picture of Dan, of course, standing on a surfboard out in the clear blue waters of Jamaica. His hair was mostly dry, which meant the curls had made an appearance that day. Dan was looking down into the water, smiling at something. Both dimples were showing on his cheeks. 

“You know why it’s my favorite?” Phil asked, not bothering to look away from the image. 

“No. Why?” Dan breathed in his ear.

Phil snickered, shivering from Dan’s breath. “Because you’re so happy and cute. And so natural. You hair isn’t straight. The dimples are on both cheeks. You know, only both dimples appear when you’re really happy. Have you ever noticed? When you’re slightly happy, the one on your right cheek is there. But when you’re happy, happy, both of them form.”

The answer was no. Dan had never noticed that. Then again, he couldn’t really see his own face when he was laughing or smiling. But what he did know, was what he was smiling about in the picture. “I didn’t know that,” Dan mumbled, still looking at the photo. “But I do know why I was happy there.”

“Why?” Phil asked, craning his neck to get a look at Dan.

“You told me to be careful when standing on it. That the waters were kind of shallow and you didn’t want me falling off and getting hurt. It was the thought of you caring so much about me that made me smile like that. I haven’t felt that kind of love from anyone in a long time. We weren’t a thing yet, but I knew that it wouldn’t be long before it happened. And it made me happy.”

“Really happy from the looks of it,” Phil said, chuckling. 

“Yes, really happy,” Dan agreed.

“You know,” Phil began, clipping the picture back on the wall, “I was scared of what you were going to think about all these pictures. It’s why I didn’t let you over here. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Dan raised both brows. “Why would you think this would scare me off?”

Phil shrugged. “It makes me seem like some sort of creepy stalker. Or a serial killer who hangs pictures on my wall of my next victim,” he said, taking Dan’s words from earlier.

Dan’s jaw dropped open, and he laughed. Really laughed. “Guess my prediction wasn’t that far off then, huh?” 

Phil turned around, his chest now touching Dan’s. “Guess not,” he murmured. “Except I’m not going to kill you.”

“That’s good,” Dan said, his voice equally as low and husky. “But I’d let you have my heart. If you really wanted it.”

Phil smiled widely. “Dan, I already took it from you months ago. It’s been mine from the beginning.”

“Just don’t rip it out, okay?” Dan said. “I don’t want to experience that kind of pain. Not from you.” He could feel the tears coming back, but he held them at bay. 

“Shh, don’t think about that. I will never rip your heart out. Not for as long as I live. I can’t touch the art anyway.”

Dan smiled at that. “I am not art. Quit calling me that.”

“You told me today that I could only look at art in galleries. Well, Daniel Howell, this is my gallery. And I’m going to look at it all night long.” Phil stared into Dan’s glossy eyes, seeing everything he saw in the photographs on his wall. Happiness and memories. 

“Can I look with you?” Dan asked, his voice a choked whisper. 

“Of course,” Phil whispered back. “I just hope you appreciate it as much as I do.” 

Dan sat down in the middle of the lounge, Phil sliding down right next to him. Dan leaned his head onto Phil’s shoulder, and Phil rubbed smooth circles on the back of Dan’s hand.  
The two sat there for hours, staring at the walls covered in polaroids. They said nothing, for they didn’t have to. The pictures on the wall spoke for them, telling them everything they needed to know. Not all memories need to be captured on film. Some of the best ones that last forever, are the ones imprinted into your own memory. Where only you and the other person can share it with each other. 

“I don’t want to forget this moment,” Dan said, his voice hoarse. 

“You won’t,” Phil promised. “Not when you have me to remind you of it everyday.”

Dan chuckled. “Did you manage to capture this moment on camera too?”

“No. I captured it somewhere better.”

Dan looked up at Phil, who smiled back down at him. “Where?”

“Right here,” Phil said, pointing at his heart.


End file.
